Chapter 9

            A beam of pink light soared across the field called Midpoint. The Yeti, whose mouth hovered less than an inch over Dobby's sweaty bald head, let out a horrible moan. Immediately, he lifted his jaw up and stumbled backward. He turned around to see a very pretty elf, Poppy.

            Her arms were stretched in front of her body with her palms facing outward toward the white Yeti. Again, she released a sparkling array of bright pink, which hit the Yeti square in the chest.

            Instead of running forward, his mouth watering, the Yeti swayed to the side. All his weight was on his right leg until it finally gave out. He fell face forward onto the bloody sands.

            Dobby opened his tightly shut eyes and was surprised by the cool, sea breeze rubbing against his face. No longer was there a hot, fleshy breath panting over him.

            Then, not too far away, Dobby caught sight of his hero. She stood shaking, her arms still at in front of her. A few wounded guards got up and rubbed their eyes when they also saw Poppy standing there and the Yeti face first in the ground.

            Before they could say or do anything else, Poppy ran toward Dobby, grabbed his arm and started to dash across the field toward the Northern towers. They stayed close by the edge walls and watched as the guards hovered around the Yeti. One of them took credit for knocking down the beast, and the remaining guards that could stand attempted to lock it up.

            "Is Dobby okay?" whispered Poppy as she hurried along the wall.

            "Thanks to Poppy," he said. "Poppy isn't like other elves."

            "No," she said.

            They stopped in front of a narrow, dirt pathway. Their was a small gap in the walls with a transparent force field in the between it. Poppy motioned Dobby to follow her across it.

            "They don't guards it," she said.

            "How does Poppy know this?"

            She turned her head slightly, her glossy lips inches away from Dobby's. His knees became weak, and just when he leaned in she continued to talk. ""Cause barrier is on. Whenever barrier is there, they don't guards it."

            Poppy pointed at the shimmering air in between the gap. Even though Dobby wasn't entirely sure they wouldn't get caught, he believed Poppy. She already saved his life, so there wasn't much to lose.

            The beautiful elf's hand grabbed onto Dobby's, and she pulled him forward. They ran across the field path, hand in hand, safely passing by the opening. As they almost cleared it, Dobby looked over his right shoulder to spot at least one hundred black robes just dangling in the air. The one closest to him slowly turned around, and he could see the bluish white face of a very dead wizard looking back at him.

            "What is that!?" Dobby asked as Poppy still pulled him along.

            "Dobby doesn't need to know about them," she said quickly. "Come, the keeper is close."

            Again, Dobby turned his head, but the wizard's back was toward him. Within a second, they were completely past the gap, and he could no longer see the hanging wizards at the Docks of the Moor.

            The northern towers stood tall. Their shadows fell over the house elves as they approached a side door. Poppy held up her palm, placed on the slate handprint, and the door dissolved into the ground.

            "Keeper is way up high," she said pointing upward at the ceiling.

            "So Dobby will give keeper clothes, and keeper will give clothes to Poppy, and Poppy will be free."

            "It sounds so simple," she said. "Is Dobby ready?"

            "For what?"

            Poppy then smacked her hands across her forehead, digging in slightly with her nails. Thin slices of her skin flaked under her smooth nails. Dobby reached forward, pulled her hands away and smirked.

            "So native elves aren't so different," he said. "Now, Poppy, what does Dobby have to be ready for?

            "For the watchers," she said. "Watchers protect tower. Must be careful."

            "Where are watchers, Poppy?"

            She pointed up and then to her sides. "Everywhere."

            The two elves now walked close together through the halls, with Dobby trying to reach for Poppy's hand. The corridor stretched upward and spiraled, passing several cells with small barred windows.

            Suddenly, Poppy pulled Dobby over to the side, placed her slender index finger on his lips and hushed him. Then, she grabbed Dobby's hand and started to run through a brick wall. Dobby quickly closed his eyes, unsure of he would smack into once more.

            But, he didn't. Instead, he emerged on the other side in a very small, murky room. The walls were covered with shelves of books. Cases of similar thick, dusty novels centered the room. On the side was one couch, leather, with a painting of a Chinese man above it.

            "Watchers cannot watch here," said Poppy.

            "Was somebody coming?" asked Dobby. "Is that why Poppy has brought Dobby here?"

            She nodded her head slightly. "Dobby's ears aren't so good, are they? Prisoners have woken… Poppy will not pass them."

            "Why not?"

            She hissed. "They be very very bad prisoners… Evil men."

            Dobby perked his ears. "So Harry Potter is not here," he paused. "What is this room?"

            "A library," she said. "He used it to plan his escape."

            Dobby didn't know whom she was referring to or what event, but he heard the word escape and that was all that mattered.

            "Tell me more about that, Poppy."

            She nodded and rushed over to the couch. Immediately, she pointed at the painting and seemed to be resisting bowing to him.

            "He loved the keeper's daughter… But he could not stay here any longer. He claimed innocence, like Dobby claims his Harry Potter. He was brought here sometime in late 1300s… Poppy doesn't remember exactly."

            "Wait… Poppy's been here since then?" Dobby asked, shocked. She didn't look a day over thirty.

            "Oh yes… Even before… Poppy has been here very long time."

            "But you haven't aged."

            Dobby then sat next to Poppy on the leather couch and stared into her beautiful purple eyes. They glistened, drawing Dobby into them.

            "Of course not. We do not age here," she said easily. "Dobby knows that. Now, does Dobby want to here more about—"

            "Yes, please," said Dobby quickly.

            She nodded. "Well, he was brought here—"

            "Does he have a name?"

            "Riddle. Thomas Riddle," she whispered. "But he was only called the Riddle man… He fell in love with Arianna Chang, and she the same. Something terrible happened."

            "What?" asked Dobby, nearly falling off his seat.

            "Arianna told Riddle Man about father, the keeper. How he built prison with his slaves and only his blood could let anyone leave it. That's when Riddle man became guilty."

            "What does Poppy mean 'became guilty'? If he was here, he was already—"

            "No," she said. "He never meant to do his first crime… That's what rumor tells. So he was sent here, claiming innocence. One night he became guilty."

            "How?" Dobby asked, completely focused on Poppy's purple eyes.

            "Riddle man tried to kill keeper! But he did not. He made a mistake. So he became guilty and was locked up just down this corridor."

            "And Poppy claims he escaped."

            "Poppy doesn't claim, Poppy knows he did," she said. "Poppy helped him."

            "What?" Dobby asked and leapt off his couch. "Poppy helped criminal?"

            "Other keeper asked her to," she said. "So Poppy showed Riddle man secret room, and how to enter it from cell."

            Dobby was floored. How could Poppy help a criminal, who tried to kill her beloved keeper, escape? Then, Dobby thought about the name. It was so familiar to him. Perhaps Harry Potter told it to him once.

            The secret room was full of very old books, some of them scattered on the floor. One in particular was left open on the ground showing a detailed tree, a family tree. It had several Chang names written upon it, with the keeper at the top with Arianna right below him.       

            Dobby still didn't understand how Poppy still worked for the keeper when she helped the man who tried to kill him escape. Perhaps the keeper didn't know.

            "We musts go get Poppy free," Dobby reminded her.

            "When prisoners sleep, we go."

            "And when is that?"

            She didn't answer. Instead, she stared at the painting of Mister Chang, the keeper. Dobby saw in those gorgeous eyes a feeling of loneliness. She may have not seen her master in centuries, or felt guilty about betraying him. Even when Dobby asked the question again, she ignored him and just stared, fixated on the painting.

            There was a knocking on the cell door. Hermione turned and waited to see a house elf's eyes popping back at her. But she didn't.

            "Who's there?" asked Ron who also approached the door.

            But there was no answer. Instead, three bowls materialized inside the cell. Harry noticed them first.

            "Maybe the elves are in a rush today," he said.

When he looked into the bowls, he saw only two of them were full of soup. The middle bowl was completely empty of any liquid. Instead, there was a message.

"I don't think that was a house elf," said Harry. "Look."

Soon, Hermione and Ron saw the folded up note. Nobody touched it, already confused enough by the map. They didn't want any more unexplainable surprises.

"We can't just keep staring at it," said Ron. "I'm gonna open it."

"Be care—"

"I know, Hermione," he said as he rolled his eyes.

Ever so gently, Ron bent over and clutched the note lying on the bottom of the soup bowl. He unfolded it and began to skim it over to himself.

"Well?"

Ron looked up with a very perplexed face. His nose was crinkled a bit, and his eyes did that squinting thing they do.

            "I think you should see it yourself," he said and handed it over to Hermione.

            Harry moved to her side, and they both read the note intently.

'Cell 369,

            You've found my map now use it wisely. Beware the watchers, and you shall get your reward. I know you're secret.'

            "There's no signature," said Harry.

            "Whoever it is, they're trying to help us," Ron said,

            "Or kill us."

            "Why does it always have to be a trick?" Ron asked defensively. "Couldn't you once say, 'Yes, Ron, I agree,' or 'This could be our way out'. No, you have to bring us all down."

            "I'm just thinking clearly!" she yelled. "Right now we aren't dead. Right now we still can escape, so I am looking on the bright side. I just know when to suspect something's up, which you obviously can't do."

            Ron was ready to punch her, if only she wasn't a girl. "Just shut up."

            "What?"

            "You heard me. Just shut up."

            Hermione swung her left arm and upper cut Ron under his chin. He fell backward, smacking his head on a soup bowl. The liquid poured over his head.

            Harry couldn't help but laugh. Those two were meant for each other, whether they knew it then or not. As Ron and Hermione talked out their differences, meaning sat there and saying nothing at all, Harry looked over the note.

            Whoever was helping them said they knew a secret. But Harry didn't know that he had a secret to keep… If only they could leave their cell, and actually use the map like the stranger said to do.

            "The map!" yelled Harry.

            He ran over to the slate ground that had the permanent ink tattooed onto it.  The three dots were still there, but now, a fourth dot appeared in the northern tower. Whatever it was, it was moving fast across the Midpoint field and straight toward their tower…